Quoted By:
You know you are in danger. The mongrelfolk watch silently, and the pressure to maintain your holy facade makes you sweat. Meanwhile, the Abbot is approaching, weapon-in-hand - it's clear he is deluded, and your magic does not intimidate him.
There's more than meets the eye about him, and he is now showing his hand. A blue-white glow diffuses throughout the room. The Abbot's skin changes color, his eyes become sharper, and his hair turns brighter. He is becoming something transcendent, inhuman - incomprehensible, even! You can't even look at him with the radiant light emitted by his transformation.
Memories rush back of the beginnings of your travels across the wildernesses of Faerûn on the hunt for your sister Joannus. Countless moments where you were surrounded by unexpected dangers, and you failed the means to defend yourself from them; in those moments, you learned to emulate your sister's bravado, and adopt an affectation, a charade of the adventuring spirit that you so vividly remember her carrying. You <span class="mu-i">know</span> she's alive, and the only way you were ever going to prove that was to face danger the way she did, to be like her. But you aren't like her, and you never will be. You are just a child. The lie crumbles under enough pressure.
Hyperventilating now, you turn your eyes away from the Abbot, whose form appears to be some kind of celestial avatar. Wings have sprouted out from his back, and his blade is now thrumming with boundless divine energy.
If you're going to die here, it should be in relative comfort... or maybe, just maybe, you can protect yourself from harm still. Not thinking, you are overcome with the urge to cover yourself in the security of the wool blanket you use for camping. Yes! Nothing will hurt you under the security blanket. It is the ultimate protection.
(cont.)
